


You can be soft with me (I love you)

by Histoireettralala (UselessGoats)



Category: Napoleonic Era RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UselessGoats/pseuds/Histoireettralala
Summary: Caroline loves Joachim.
Relationships: Caroline Bonaparte/Joachim Murat
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	You can be soft with me (I love you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoachimNapoleon (UselessGoats)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UselessGoats/gifts).



> A very happy birthday to you, my friend! May our Murat love keep flourishing, for years of friendship, laughs, knowledge, and shared wonder. I hope you'll enjoy this fluffy little piece. It's all yours!

_She wanted to touch him._

  
Caroline blinked and took a deep breath, fanning herself steadily, subreptiously studying him from behind the relative shelter her fan provided.

  
Around her and her siblings, everything shone like she'd imagine it would in a royal court. Jewels gleamed, skirts rustled, medals flashed, perfumes waged subtle, hard fought battles. Gilded generals and delicate, sharp eyed ladies milled around them, swords glistening under the sun-

  
And Caroline only had eyes for one.

  
What a delicious, heady sensation, she thought. How could that happen, without even a touch ? And what would it feel like to be able to map those broad shoulders inch by inch, to play with those shiny black curls, to let her fingertips follow the path of the trimmings, wander through the maze of that uniform ? How much more exciting could it still get ?

  
All she knew in that moment is that she wanted _more_ of it.

  
More of the warm, bright blue eyes who'd stirred something deep within her that she didn't even suspect existed.

  
More of the height and shoulder breadth that had caused her breath to falter.

  
More of the heated contact she was sure just _had_ to happen.

  
It was just so delicious, and Caroline was now fairly certain that she didn't need Pauline's help to understand lust.

  
She just knew she wanted to do all kinds of things to him in return. Mostly, it involved her hands. And her lips. And his body. And..

  
Yes.

  
Consider her well and truly _awakened_ now.

***

General Murat was built like a dream, she decided, having oh so inadvertently stumbled on the path to the lake. His arm was strong and firm under her grasping hand, and his eyes flew over her in genuine concern. Caroline waved away the inexistant pain to see his eyes brighten and the corners of his mouth lift into a radiant smile.

  
General Murat had a warm, lilting voice, that conjured tales of childhood lore and of thundering, epic battlefields. Caroline found out that she could, actually, _very much_ bear to hear about war ( _was everything she'd been told just a lie ?_ ), she could hear about it for hours. She could even picture it, she would ride a strong, spirited horse, she would fight, bedecked with diamonds and furor, pistol in hand, scything her enemies right and left. 

  
General Murat's legs were made to stride, but for her they slowed and waited, muscles flexing and relaxing with a graceful ease that left Caroline dizzy. 

  
General Murat was cheerful and bright-eyed, but it was the touch of wonder in those eyes that cinched her interest for good. She'd met other handsome, attractive men - and if all she wanted was a shiny uniform, none of that was ever rare around Napoleon nowadays. It would be easy for her to get whoever she wanted (provided she could secure Napoleon's assent), both because after her years of being the forgotten sister, Caroline knew she had blossomed into a desirable, confident young woman - and because of her brother's new fortune. 

  
She'd met other attractive men, and she surely would keep meeting more of them.

  
Mere charm wouldn't cut it.

  
But General Murat smiled at flowers and marvelled at birds, watching them fly away with a childlike yearning.

  
General Murat listened to her Institute stories, interjecting here or there with a thoughtful question, an amusing anecdote, or a surprisingly wise remark.

  
General Murat had dimples.

  
General Murat laughed willingly at her jokes.

  
General Murat told her his name was Joachim.

  
Caroline very much wanted to say it, softly, in his ear, while he held her.

***

  
Napoleon was very, _very_ wrong if he thought the idea of cavalry manoeuvering in the bedroom would ever scare her.

  
Napoleon would learn.

  
Joachim Murat was _hers_.

***

  
Caroline _loved_ cavalry manoeuvers.

  
Just as she had suspected.

  
Probably because she had had the best teacher, she mused, her fingers wandering idly through the planes of her husband's chest, mapping muscles and scars, wondering about the unknown, the unsaid - those very real dangers, those wars that left their marks on his body, on his flesh, in his mind. 

  
It hadn't disgusted or frightened her. But it had been a sobering thought in spite of her giddiness at finally getting her hands on him. Someday one of these bullets or the blow of a sword could take Joachim away from her. It didn't seem possible, that such a small thing could fell such a strong, vibrant man. 

  
Her Joachim.

  
He was still blissfully asleep, one strong, warm arm wrapped tight around her, face relaxed, curls spilled around his head on their pillow.

  
Big and strong, and so vulnerable.

  
Caroline swallowed a shaky breath.

  
For as much as people went on and on about men's duty to protect their wives and children, about men's strength and power, about their natural place in society, they could be shockingly frail at times. And women had to bear their fears and insecurities on top of their own.

  
And Joachim was surprisingly sensitive, he was proud and easily hurt, he didn't have much of a shell to hide that vulnerability behind. 

  
It's alright, Caroline thought, gently caressing his cheek; it's alright, you can be soft with me; I'll be tough and hard for both of us.

***

He was crying.

  
Frankly crying, tears rolling down his cheeks, his wet blue eyes looking down with wonder at the baby in his arms; incredulous; his arms faintly shaking under such a small weight.

  
He was smiling.

  
Awed and besotted, his eyes devouring the little face, his hands carefully holding this newest and dearest treasure of his life; smiling while crying, all his heart flowing through his eyes.

  
Achille cooed and flailed his arms. 

  
Joachim sobbed.

  
Caroline felt her heart expand and threaten to burst out of her chest. She was surprised to find her own eyes tearing up - and her smile was as big as Joachim's.

  
She hurried towards him and embraced him from behind, breathing into him, his unique smell of horse, gun powder, and perfume, the danger and passion, the winning combination that could break and make her. She tightened her embrace while he cried.

  
Achille let out a tiny trill of a laugh, and Joachim lost it again.

  
Caroline held on.

***

  
Caroline smiled.

  
How very shocked would Madame Campan be if she could see her right now, lazing around in bed past seven in the morning, with Joachim and the children, all of them cuddling and enjoying a quiet hour doing nothing but being together. How delightful it was! Caroline stretched, feeling glorious. God she wished Madame Campan would actually see her right now, in her nightgown, with her hair undone, Joachim lying just alongside her -oh yes, they shared a bedroom, and she didn't care who knew it. Hopefully the old hag would choke on that piece of news.

  
Lucien, her sweet little boy, was snuggling into her, his small body a source of warmth at her side, and she gently ruffled his hair, caressed his soft little cheek. He had fallen asleep right after joining them -from what both Letitia and Achille had said, he had been the one to wake them all to go join their parents, insisting on Achille taking little Louise from her craddle, and as soon as the little cortege had successfully reached their destination and ended up in mama and papa's bed for cuddles, Lucien was out like a light.

  
To Lucien's left, her eyes found little Louise, her dark curls, so like Joachim's, in a wild disarray. The baby, her eyes wide open, was looking around the room with a fascinated expression, until she eventually tired of her visual exploration and started looking at her family instead. She smiled at Caroline, babbling happily; Caroline beamed back at her and Louise kept on babbling.

  
Letitia had secured her place at her father's side, and was now dozing in his arms, like a blissful little starfish, one of her hands buried in his hair, her nose in his neck. 

  
And behind Joachim, Achille was quietly keeping guard, his eyes closed, but Caroline wasn't fooled. He was watching over them all. Her proud, independant little boy was very protective of his loved ones and wouldn't pass over the honor to watch over his sleeping hero.

  
Caroline just basked in her pride and love.

  
She hadn't known before that one could be so happy.

  
She was so very glad she had just let Joachim have his way when he suggested they just let the children come to their bedroom sometimes, if they so wished. She surely wouldn't have thought of it - it just wasn't done where she came from. 

  
Maybe it was a country thing. 

  
Maybe - probably - it was a Joachim thing.

  
She _loved_ him. 

***

They were tangled up and kissing before he knew what had happened. Her hands were everywhere, and the moan that left his throat set fire to her blood. 

  
Her man, her beautiful man.

  
He shouldn't leave her without first loving her, showing her how he would miss her, as intensely as she would miss him; he shouldn't leave before she'd had him one last time, once more; he shouldn't leave before being made absolutely, perfectly, _definitely_ sure there could be no other woman for him to forever return to; he shouldn't leave without bearing her marks; he shouldn't leave without the viaticum of her love.

  
She held him so that he would come home to her again; she kissed him so that he would bring her with him everywhere he'd go; she bit him so that no bullet, no sword, no illness could take him away from her, so that nothing and nobody else would ever mar his skin or make him shed blood. She loved him so that he would always be hers to love.

  
Blissfully exhausted, she drew her fingers over his chest, his neck, his clavicles, fascinated by the mottled spots her passion had visited upon him.

  
May this be the only violence you must feel, she fervently prayed.

  
When he eventually rose again to get dressed, she joined him, waving away the idea of anybody else clothing him for battle. 

  
She would, while dressing him, weave an impenetrable shield around him.

  
He took her in his arms for a fierce, final kiss, her man, her beautiful man.

  
She knew she would see him again.

***

His absence tonight was a loud, heavy weight upon her heart.

  
She wanted to tell him about Lucien's delightful reaction to Louise surpassing him with her work, and about his little girl's pride at outshining her older brother.

  
She wanted to show him Letitia's lovely new dresses, how tall she was growing already, what a beautiful young lady she soon would be.

  
She wanted to ask him to take Achille aside and just talk to him, father to son, because his son sorely missed him and needed him to come back soon.

  
She wanted to see him, his colored, joyous face, his shining eyes, his famous hair and strong legs, and hear his laugh, and his voice, and feel his heartbeat under her fingers, and share his breath and his life, and she just _missed_ him. 

  
She needed to see him with her own eyes, to touch him with her hands, to feel him warm and alive in her arms; she needed to kiss him to feel him breathe (to feel herself breathe); she couldn't be satisfied with a few random missives. To her surprise, she found out that him writing her more regularly than he had accustomed her to, only made her ever greedier for it.

  
For him.

  
Her silly, lovely man who wrote her poetry in the aftermath of bloody battle.

  
Caroline sighed as she put her quill to paper:

  
_"My Beloved..."_

***

  
As the sounds of their children's laughter echoed in the waning light of the day, Caroline drew closer to her husband, laying her head on his shoulder, her fingers mingling with his, happy to simply be with him.

  
They just stayed there, silent and content, watching the orange and pink lights play over the bay of Naples as the sun slowly sank into the sea.

  
Caroline huddled against Joachim, nudging his shoulder and smiling up at him. His arm went around her, then the other one brought her up even closer, till she was on his lap, and they laughed.

  
She giggled and kissed his cheek, and he rocked her softly in his embrace.

  
_This is everything I've ever wanted_ , Caroline thought, giving herself over to the moment. 

  
I'm _happy_.


End file.
